


The Trouble With Being a MILF

by Severely_Lupine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Future, Companion Piece, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severely_Lupine/pseuds/Severely_Lupine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione attends a Yule Ball masquerade in a skimpy costume, but Snape isn't the only one who appreciates it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble With Being a MILF

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to one of my Stepfather Snape drabbles ("More Than One Thing is Wrong With This Picture"), in which Hugo attends a Yule Ball.

Hermione fought not to cover herself with her arms. How she’d let Ginny talk her into such a skimpy costume, she had no idea. Still... it was rather flattering to see so many teenage boys looking at her that way (not that she would ever act on it, of course; her tastes of late ran in quite another direction). She knew she was in good shape and Ron had always seemed to like her body, but even when she was a teenager, it was her mind that people paid attention to. Of course, that’s how she wanted it. But it was, on occasion, nice to be noticed as a female.

“Thank you for allowing Severus to bring me,” she said to McGonagall (who had, rather unimaginatively, come dressed as a cat).

“Of course, my dear,” McGonagall replied. “I’m just grateful he finally has someone he wishes to bring to such an event. I’m so happy for you two. I was quite worried about you, as well, after...”

“After Ron died,” Hermione finished, suddenly finding the floor in front of her fascinating. “I was a bit worried about myself for a while there.”

“Is it worth the risk, though?” McGonagall asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You have not, I understand, informed your children that you’ve begun seeing someone, let alone one of their professors.”

Hermione dismissed the concern with a wave. “They’ll never recognize me. Not with this mask covering my face and my hair Transfigured into this”—she gave a strand of it a tug—“silky, blonde extravagance.” In truth, she wasn’t crazy about the color, though she did quite like the new texture. Perhaps she’d experiment more with it in the future. “And they’d never imagine that boring old Mum would dress as a selkie. They’d be more likely to think that teapot over there is me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” McGonagall said, but Hermione didn’t quite hear her.

“Lucky thing it was a masquerade, really.”

McGonagall took a sip of punch and hummed around the edge of the cup. “Mmm. Lucky.”

A figure emerged from the crowd and walked toward them. Hermione had to stifle a laugh a the sight of the vampire straight out of an old Muggle horror film. Black, high-collared cape with red lining, his skin somehow bleached nearly white, and his hair tied back to show an impressive widow’s peak. When his lips parted in greeting, she could see he’d even managed to pull off fangs. If it wasn’t so funny, it would really have been quite scary.

His eyes were covered by a small black mask with red glass over the eye holes, but it was pitiful as a disguise. It could never have been anyone but Severus Snape.

She had to admit, she was impressed that he’d lightened up enough in his middle age to make a joke of the horrible rumors that had been passing through Hogwarts’s halls for years.

When he stood before her, he inclined his head briefly. At first, Hermione thought he was nodding hello. His next words made her realize he’d been appraising her appearance.

“Corrupting the minds of our youth, are you, Mrs. Weasley?” Severus asked.

Hermione felt her cheeks warm behind her mask—though from shame or flattery, she wasn’t sure. Probably a bit of both.

“They’re teenagers,” she said, trying to sound flippant. “They’d shag anything with breasts. And sometimes not even that.”

“Mm, indeed,” Severus purred. “Your son particularly seems to be enjoying the view.”

Hermione gasped and followed Severus’s subtle look to where Hugo was standing against a wall, his face painted white with black spots around his eyes and little furry ears sticking out of his bushy hair. At first, her only thought was how adorable her little boy was—then, she registered the look in his eyes.

She’d seen that very look, in those very same eyes—when they’d belonged to quite a different fourteen-year-old boy—at the last Yule Ball.

She bit back an exclamation and knew that behind her mask her face was bright red. She moved to cross her arms over her chest, but Severus caught her hands in his.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his mask, but his amused smile told her his eyebrow must be raised. “You wouldn’t want to raise suspicion, would you? Isn’t it bad enough that one of you is embarrassed?”

There was something in his tone. She glared at him—a futile effort, as she knew he couldn’t see her expression. “Don’t say a word about this—to anyone.”

“Very well. On one condition,” he said and kissed her hand. “Dance with me.”

Hermione smiled and let herself be distracted from the eyes of her son, which she knew still lingered inappropriately on her.

“Oh, all right. But only because dancing with you might at least let him know I’m not a girl his age.”

Severus smirked and led her onto the floor. “If you think that will stop him looking at you, I must say I think you underestimate teenage boys. Anything with breasts, remember?”

Sighing, she let Severus pull her close so she could get some cover from his cape as it swirled around them.

“I’m going to get Ginny for this,” she muttered. “Maybe I’ll dig up that _Witches of Quidditch 2001_ calendar and slip it under James’s door.”

Severus chuckled and spun her. “My dear, you’re becoming more Slytherin by the day.”


End file.
